ParaNoir
by tfm
Summary: Aaron Hotchner is trapped in a strange, dark city with no memory of his former life. He soon finds himself meeting people that may be able to dredge up those memories; some more than others. Emily/Hotch. COMPLETE.
1. I

Para-Noir

I

This city needs me.

And I need this city.

We're alike in some ways. Dark, with a hidden layer. A layer trapped by years of corruption. A layer of filth that washes over us. The city is a mystery, even to itself. Just like me.

I know my name is Aaron Hotchner.

I know I came to the city five years ago.

I know my wife and son are dead.

That's all I know.

I am a mystery, even to myself.

But then again, so is everyone else in this city.

***

Penelope Garcia sets a thick pile of files on my desk, followed by a large cup of coffee. Her title is assistant, but she is so much more than that; friend, confidant, family. In the city, she's the only person I have. I found her two years ago, hiring out her computer skills to the highest bidder. We felt a strange connection, as if we had known each other in some previous life. I asked her if she wanted to work for me. She said yes.

'You're still wearing your hat,' she tells me. I put my hand to my head, and realize that she's right. I put the fedora on the hat hook, put my coat on my coat hook. My suit jacket I hang on the back of my chair.

She smiles at me, snaps my suspenders. 'Now you look like you're ready for work,' she tells me.

'What's the fare today?' I ask her.

'Cheating spouses, mostly,' she tells me. 'The kind of thing I can track down in my lunch break.'

'Anything else?' I ask. I'm sick of cheating spouses. Sick of tiny problems that are beyond my skill level. I'm here to help people who are in genuine danger, not help people who are looking to score in their divorce settlements.

'I did get an interesting phone call,' she says. 'I couldn't trace it. A woman – she says she can't say her name on the phone – needed to come and see you. She couldn't talk long, because she thought they might be listening in.'

'That does sound interesting,' I concede. 'Did she say what time she was coming in?'

'As soon as she could get here.' It's then that I hear the heavy footsteps. Inquisitors, it almost sounds like. I put my hand to my gun holster, just in case. I'm not going down to the Inquisitors without a fight.

It's not the Inquisitors. It's the woman from the phone call, or so I assume. Emily. She looks like an Emily.

She's wearing dark jeans, dark boots. Almost everything about her is dark, except for that alabaster white skin. Even that is marred by cuts and bruises. Blood coats one side of her face, stemming from a nasty gash in the forehead.

'I'm being followed.' She's breathing heavily. Exhausted. 'Inquisitors.'

'You can't bring them here,' I hiss. 'Inquisitors killed my family. You think I want them to kill me too?'

She looks at me with a strange look in her eyes. For a moment I almost think I've met her before.

'Inquisitors didn't kill your family,' she says. 'An unsub did.'

I don't know what she means by that. I don't know what an unsub is supposed to be. Or who _she_ is supposed to be for that matter.

'Don't worry, Hotch,' she tells me. 'I lost the Inquisitors. For now.'

Hotch. Why does she call me Hotch? No-one calls me Hotch. Penelope calls me Hot Stuff. Everyone else calls me Aaron, or Mr. Hotchner. No-one has ever called me Hotch.

'Emily?' I ask her. She really does look like an Emily.

She grins at me, and I can see the blood that has coated her mouth. 'I guess you haven't quite forgotten everything.'

'What do you mean? What is it I'm supposed to remember?' The questions that have been haunting me for five years. Along with, 'Who am I?'

She looks at me sideways. 'I can't tell you that,' she says.

Everyone in this city is a mystery.


	2. II

Para-Noir

II

I should throw her out. Leave her for the Inquisitors. I don't need that kind of trouble.

There's a footnote in my advertisements; "No Inquisitor related cases." It's perfectly straight-forward. It's blunt. It's honest. I don't want the Inquisitors having anything to do with my life.

And yet, I don't throw her out. I let her use the tiny bathroom that is attached to the office. I get the strangest urge to clean her wounds. But I don't. Penelope offers a change of clothes, but Emily declines.

As soon as she is out of earshot, I turn to Penelope. 'Do a search. I need to know who this woman is.' It's a definite need. I feel drawn to this woman in a way I've never been drawn to Penelope. But we've never had that kind of relationship anyway.

'Emily…Prentiss.'

'Did she give her surname?' I don't remember her doing so. Penelope frowns, realizes that she supplied the name herself. She taps away at the keyboard.

'Emily Prentiss. Wanted by the Inquisitors for…crimes against the Inquisitors.' It's a track on repeat. A story heard a dozen times before. The inquisitors are ruthless, the kind of – I hesitate in saying this – "people" who you don't want to get on the wrong side of.

'Her records in the city go back two years. That's how long she's been on the run from them.' Penelope sounds upset, as if pain to this mysterious woman is in some way pain to her. 'Before that, nothing.'

"Just like the rest of us," she doesn't say.

'Anything else?'

'Nothing I can get into without sending up red flags. Try and hack these here, and every Inquisitor within half a mile will come running.'

'They're already on their way,' Emily's voice tells me. She's cleaned herself up, and the result would be monochromatic if not for the dark red lips. I'm distracted by her lips, and her words don't even register until a second later.

'What do you mean?' I ask.

'If you've checked my file, then they'll register that in their system. They'll be here within twenty minutes.' Her voice is calm, collected. The voice of a person who is accustomed to being one step ahead of the Inquisitors. 'We need to leave.'

'Where are we supposed to go?' I ask, exasperated. I put on my coat, wondering what else I'll need to take. I wonder about other things too, like why I am so accepting of this woman's word. I think it's that connection. That strange connection that no-one can explain. The reason I know her name upon seeing her face.

'You run from the Inquisitors for long enough, you get to know a few hiding places,' she says.

Footsteps down the hall. Big, clunky boots, you can almost hear the Inquisitors coming from a mile off. They must have been in the area.

'Go!' she hisses, ushering first me, and then Penelope out the door. 'Fire escape,' she says. She's got a gun out. I hadn't noticed that before. Her slim, elegant hands embrace the weapon like a lover. 'Go,' she repeats.

I shake my head, pull out my own weapon. Noticing my determination, she sighs.

'Aim for the neck,' is all she tells me.

***

I've never been in a gunfight like this – so far as I can remember – and yet it feels strangely familiar.

There are three of them, towering above us. 'Offer submission,' one booms in a voice that shatters glass. A second later, it's not talking. Her bullet has struck it at that weak point in the neck. It sways.

Inquisitors like to take people alive. They need people to question. When it looks like the target isn't backing down, they'll go for the wounding, and when that isn't enough, they'll kill everything in sight.

There's no substantial cover between us and them. There's a closed wooden door, a hallway table. Nothing that would stop the spread of bullets that arc across the room. I get down low, hoping that it's enough. I fire my own shot, and it bounces of the Inquisitor's skull plate. The side of my head is stinging. I think I might have been hit by a ricochet.

I glance briefly at Emily. She's stemming the blood flow from a wound on her arm. I want desperately to go over there and help her, but I know that would be a death knell for both of us.

She steadies her wounded arm, lets loose another shot. Despite the injury, she still has impeccable aim. The second Inquisitor topples over, landing on the first. There's one left.

I look deep into its eyes, though I'm not sure they're eyes. They're deep, fathomless pits. Pools of darkness. This beast – this machine – it has no discernable soul. I fire my shot. The beast drops.

With some effort, I get to my feet. Emily is already up. She doesn't even seem to care about the bullet wound in her arm. I get the feeling that she's deal with them before. That she can take it.

'We need to move now,' she says. 'There'll be more on the way.'

I never would have wanted this. I was happy with my life. I enjoyed the casework that being a Private Detective offered me. I never wanted to deal with Inquisitors again.

But now, as I follow Emily to the fire escape, I'm not so sure.


	3. III

Para-Noir

III

Outside, it is dark.

It's not a nighttime darkness, that all-consuming abyss, but a daytime gloominess. The city is always dark. The city never sleeps.

Just like me.

***

We've gone ten blocks before Emily stops. She's breathing heavily again. I notice the blood that slicks her jacket. A dark stain, spreading. She sees me looking.

'We've got to get off the street,' she tells me.

It's not as if we stand out. This city is filled with filth, corruption. An ecumenopolis of the worst of humanity. This city has no boundaries, physical or otherwise. In this city I've seen grifters seducing teenage girls. I've seen organ thieves peddling cut-price kidneys on street corners. I've seen death lurking in every alley, despair coating every building.

I need this city.

She leads Penelope and me into a back street. I don't hesitate, though I probably should. I know what happens in the back streets.

On the sidewalk, a homeless man begs for change. His legs are amputated below the knee, and a wound on his chest is beginning to show signs of infection. I give him the last of my coins, leftovers of a time that made a little more sense.

We finally reach a place that satisfies her. Tall buildings close in from either side. There's a door. She knocks on it three times.

'Who is it?' a voice says.

'Dry cleaning,' Emily responds. A passphrase of some kind, I believe. 'We lost your pants.' The door swings open, letting us in. The first thing Emily does is sit down, reaching inside her jacket with her good arm. She lets out a groan with gritted teeth.

'Get me a first aid kit,' I say to the man who let us in. He's tall, maybe six foot five, and he's wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything. I move forward to help Emily get her jacket off. It comes off with some resistance; the blood is still sticky.

I turn back to the tall man. 'Where's the first aid kit?' He doesn't move, doesn't say anything.

'You have to pay him first,' Emily tells me.

I reach inside my coat pocket, and realize that my wallet is in my jacket, which is still on my chair in the office.

'Inside left pocket,' she says. Her breathing has become labored. I reach inside her discarded jacket and pull out a roll of notes. 'Two hundred,' she says. Her face is pale, even for her. I give the man his money, and I work on removing her shirt. It's wet, almost half of it soaked with freshly pumped blood. Her eyes flicker, but she catches herself before she can close them.

'Get out of the way,' the tall man says. He's wearing gloves, an apron. You obviously get your money's worth here. He lifts her up almost effortlessly, and carries her to a bed in the next room. I follow, oblivious to the blood that soaks my hands.

***

A second man ushers me out, no sooner than I have entered. He sits me down, examines the wound on my head that I had all but forgotten about.

'Fragment,' he tells me. 'Didn't go in too far, but you'll need a couple of stitches.' He pulls out the offending bullet fragment, and cleans off the blood. Then, he sterilizes a needle. 'We can't afford to waste the anesthetic on you,' he says, but I'm not offended. Though I haven't experienced one first hand, I've heard of operations like this. Safe havens from Inquisitors, gangers, bounty hunters, and so on. They need every bit of medical equipment they can get.

It stings a little.

No more than the emotional pain I'm feeling, I'm sure.

***

We've been given a room on the third floor. It's small. There are three single beds, and a tiny bathroom that has a cracked mirror. I stare at the floor and wonder when it was last vacuumed.

Penelope is sitting on the bed, staring into the ether. This was the kind of life she had before, and I know she isn't keen on going back to it. I smile, put a hand on her back. She looks up at me.

'You're smiling,' she says. She's always telling me to smile.

'I know,' I say eventually. 'I've just got this feeling…' I trail off. I'm not exactly one to talk about my feelings.

'I know,' she concurs. 'I feel it too.'

The door swings open, and Emily walks in. She's donning a fresh white sling, contrasting against the new black t-shirt she's wearing. I stand to greet her.

'This is nothing.' She tries to assuage my worried gaze, but I'm not quite sure I believe her. 'We can talk properly here.' She tries to change the subject, and it works. As worried as I am, I am also curious.

'Have we met before?' Penelope asks immediately. 'I feel like we've met before.'

'I don't know,' Emily admits. 'Two years ago, I woke up in this city. Barely knew who I was. I knew my name, and I knew six other names. That's it.'

'Six?' Penelope asks.

'Penelope Garcia, Aaron Hotchner. It's taken this long just to find you two. I don't know where the other four are.'

Something is nagging at me. It's small, but I ask her about it anyway. 'You said my family was killed by an unsub. What does that mean?' I'm almost afraid of the answer. It took so much effort to forget the past that bringing it up makes it hurt even more.

'I…' She hesitates. 'I don't know. I just…said it. I didn't even think, it just came out.'

I nod. I've had that experience before with Penelope.

For five years, one memory has haunted my nightmares. Though I try to forget, it still manages to creep its way into my unconscious, disturbing my sleeping hours. Two bodies; a woman and a young boy. I'm stepping into the room, my gun drawn. I see the bodies. My expression is one of abject horror.

One memory has haunted my nightmares.

But this time, when I close my eyes and I step into that room, I am not alone.

She is there with me.


	4. IV

Para-Noir

IV

The names do sound familiar when I hear them.

David Rossi.

Derek Morgan.

Spencer Reid.

Jennifer Jareau.

I wonder who they are. Are they figments of our imagination, haunting us? Are they people we once knew, torn from our memories?

'Can you search the names?' I ask Garcia. She shakes her head.

'I don't have any equipment with me, and if I did, what are the chances that we'll be hit by the Inquisitors again?'

'We can't just not try,' Emily says. 'Tracking these people down is the reason we're on the run in the first place.'

'The reason _you're_ on the run,' Garcia corrects her, not unkindly. 'We are on the run because of morbid curiosity. I do know a couple of people who might be able to help, but they work below the law, so…' She's looking at me. I've always forbidden, or at least warned her against using criminal informants, so to speak.

'We're fugitives whether we break the law again or not,' I say. I'm still not completely certain that it's the best idea. But it's the only idea we've got.

***

We're outside at the door of a dingy looking apartment inside a dingy looking apartment building. The man we're here to see styles himself "Hermes." Emily says that she's heard of him before, but never worked with him. According to both her and Penelope, his is a valued name on the street.

'Penelope Garcia, is that you?' a voice rings out a moment after she has knocked on the door. An eye from above, the camera watches us unrelentingly.

'The one and only,' she replies in a sing-song voice. She and Hermes go back a long way. The door opens for us, and I am met with an astonishing sight. Wall to wall computer equipment. Monitors, hard-drives, and a lot of other things I can't put a name to. Hermes himself is about a head shorter than me, but with tangled dreadlocks that reach down his back. He gives Penelope a warm hug, and nods politely at Emily and I.

'I need you to run some names for me,' Penelope tells him. 'Below Inquisitor radar.'

'That will narrow down the results,' he tells her. 'Below Inquisitor radar, I can't check anything in a government database.' It's not good news. Almost everything is in a government database these days. I don't know of a time when it wasn't all government.

'But…' he adds, 'If you're willing to wait a few days, I know someone who can find out if the names are on a government database.'

'Check the databases you can, first,' Emily tells him. 'Get your friend to run down the ones you can't find.'

He turns to her, looks her in the eye. 'You're marked by them,' he says, referring to a tiny scar that I hadn't even noticed before. It's not even half an inch long, just below the hairline. Hard to spot, and easily dismissed. It's more a mark for the Inquisitors themselves than for the rest of us.

The consequences of being marked? The only ones that know that are the marked themselves, and the Inquisitors. Emily certainly isn't saying anything about it any time soon, and I'm not planning on asking the Inquisitors for a friendly chat.

Hermes takes the list from Penelope, inputs the first name into his search program. It's nix on David Rossi. Nix on Derek Morgan.

'This is interesting.' Hermes opens the file of one Spencer Reid. 'Spencer Reid was on a few private databases for a while, and then all traces of him vanish. This usually happens when someone is taken by the Inquisitors, but that is usually put on any record, private or public. With him, there's nothing.'

'He could still be on a government database though?'

'Yeah, sure. But like I said, a few days…'

He types the next name.

'Bingo.'

And just like that, we've found Jennifer Jareau. It's time to pay her a visit.

**A/N: Short, because I just got off work, and I have work again at 7.30am tomorrow. 10 hours really isn't enough recuperation time. Thanks to those already invested in the story – I'll try not to disappoint you too much.**


	5. V

Para-Noir

V

**Warning: Adult themes.**

As we step outside, the dark swallows us. It has drifted into night.

'It's not far to JJ's place,' Emily says. She pauses momentarily when she realizes that she has used the soubriquet without consciously processing it. 'We can make it there tonight.'

'It's getting dark,' I protest, but that isn't the real reason I'd like to put this off. Emily looks exhausted – she needs the rest.

'It's always dark,' she retorts, but she accepts my assessment of the situation. We return to the tall apartment building that houses refugees and fugitives.

The homeless man is gone – all that is left of his nest is a few scraps of bloody cloth. He has been spirited away.

'Dinner's at 6,' the tall man tells us. 'Second floor.'

It's almost six now, so we go straight to the second floor. Its long tables and benches are occupied by an assortment of people. Men and women, young and old. All brought together by one thing; tyranny.

We find ourselves some seats, pile plain food onto chipped plates, pour bitter drinks into tarnished mugs.

This darkness swallows us all.

We eat in silence. The day's events should give us a whole manner of things to talk about, and yet we are silenced by our imperfect cuisine. Flawed though it is, it gives me a strange sense of reassurance.

The darkness swallows us all. We swallow the darkness.

The man the next plate along attempts to engage us in conversation. Penelope, unable to stand the quiet much longer, responds. Escaping the darkness.

'I'm going to go upstairs,' says Emily suddenly. She has barely touched the food on her plate, save to push it about with her fork. I see the look in her eyes. She wants some time alone, if only five minutes.

I'll give her as long as it takes to finish dinner.

***

I hear the shower turn off, expelling its last few drops of water. I shut the door quietly. The sound of bathroom activities reverberates. She's drying her hair, brushing her teeth.

'Hotch?' she calls out eventually.

'I'm here.'

There is a slight trace of embarrassment in her voice, as if the last thing she wants to do is ask me this. And in the end, it's not even a question. 'I need help putting on a fresh bandage.'

Oh.

I open the bathroom door. With her good arm, she's holding up a towel to her otherwise bare chest. The wound is red and ugly against her perfect skin. My own chest tightens. She raises an eyebrow.

The first aid kit requisitioned from downstairs is in the sink. I pick it up, and she follows me back into the small room beyond.

She sits on the bed, lets the towel drop.

I stare at her back.

It's heavily scarred, the old wounds forming an arbitrary and yet almost hypnotic motif.

I dress the wound slowly, the tranquility only punctuated by my breathing. Her breaths are soft, almost indistinguishable from the background noise. I let my fingers brush across her skin. She freezes.

I can feel the goose bumps beneath my fingertips. I start to pull my hand away, but she stops me. I kiss her neck slowly, uncertainly. When she doesn't pull away, I grow more confident. My hand shifts slightly, my kisses rise.

She turns to face me.

Sometimes, you have to embrace the darkness.

Those lips are even softer than I imagined.

***

A tiny bit of blood seeps onto the fresh bandage.

'I guess this qualifies as over-exertion,' she says. I chuckle slightly. I've only known her for twelve hours, and yet it feels like I've known her for half my life.

She complements me.

I think – I know – she is thinking the same things. She is staring off into space, dreamily. It's a look have no conscious recollection of, but at the same time it is so familiar.

My fingers are intertwined with hers, resting on her thigh. Her back presses into me. With my free hand, my fingers dance. It's a small bed, and we are all the closer for it.

'You should get the stitches checked,' I murmur into her hair.

'Not right now,' she replies. 'I don't think I have the inclination to get up.'

In the end, darkness swallows us all.

**A/N: I have very little experience writing romance, so tell me readers, how did I do?**


	6. VI

Para-Noir

VI

As I sleep, I think dark thoughts. I dream dark dreams.

Death haunts me.

I see the bodies of people I know, and of people I've never met before. I see blood, and burning flesh. I see the twisted corpses of children, raped to death. I see the bodies of my wife and son, their dead eyes staring at me. Taunting me.

I wake with a start.

It's dark. It's always dark.

My hand is resting on Emily's stomach, beneath the thin blanket. Her soft breaths are masked by Penelope's louder ones from the other side of the room. I can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest beneath my fingertips.

I wonder if she had nightmares. If they have become so commonplace to her that they are like just another dream. Embracing the darkness.

Thinking these things, I slowly diminish back into the land of reveries and torments.

The darkness is everywhere.

***

When I wake for the second time, it's slower, much more natural. The morning light trickles in through the dirty window, and yet the room remains as gloomy as ever.

Beside me, the bed is empty, save for a handwritten note. It reads "Gone to get my stitches checked." Her handwriting is neat, precise. Everything I'd expect from her. In spite of having been eluding the Inquisitors for two years, she has an air of class that cannot be simulated.

'Good night last night?' Penelope asks me. She has that twitch in her eye. The twitch that is her letting me know that she knows.

I give her a half-smile. It's not as if I'm trying to hide it.

'I mean, I was expecting it,' she says, 'But damn, hot stuff. You move quickly.'

When Emily returns, it is with one arm in a sling and the other laden with bags. The smell of cooked food wafts towards me. I move forward to relieve her of the burden.

'What's all this?' Penelope asks.

'You don't want to be wearing the same clothes for the next two weeks,' Emily tells her. There's a general store on the second floor, off from the kitchen area, she explains. I don't remember seeing it last night.

'How can you afford this?' I ask. In my limited experience, being on the run does not provide ample opportunity for job hunting.

She gives me a one-armed shrug, and hands me a Styrofoam container. Breakfast.

'I do a bit of mercenary work sometimes,' she reveals. 'But never too long in the one place.' The implication of her words is clear; we can't stay here again tonight. We have to move on.

She divided the contents of her shopping spree into two backpacks, while simultaneously telling us the story of how she had been jumped by gangers the previous week.

'…they stole my backpack and my socks. Left everything else.' She's grinning as she tells the story. Her smile is easy, natural, despite the circumstances.

'Initiation ritual,' Penelope suggests, and Emily nods.

'Probably.' She looks healthier today – skin less pallid, cheeks less hollow. There is a glow in her eyes. An ecstasy that I feel I've seen before.

A light in the darkness.

***

Jennifer Jareau is a freelance journalist. She lives in alone in an apartment that's five miles from where we're standing. The city knows no bounds – we're lucky that it's five miles and not five hundred.

After three miles, Emily's shoulder is starting to ache. We stop for a minute. I ask her if she needs a painkiller.

'No,' she replies, firmly. 'They'll dull my reaction times. I can live with the pain.' She does request the water bottle from my backpack though. I hand it to her, and she takes a long sip. It's not particularly hot in the city; a mild chill is the constant companion of the gloominess. It's fitting.

Jennifer Jareau's building looks the same as every other building. It's dark, squalid and is surrounded by the dregs of human society. In the city, none of the private citizens live the high life, yet some like to pretend that they do. In the city, riches are unique to the government alone.

We take the elevator up, the tiny box permeated by a crackling loop of swing jazz.

As I knock on the door, it swings open beneath my touch. I step inside, cautious.

I know immediately that the apartment is void of human life. It's a certain ambience that you can never quite explain, as though the air is undisturbed.

Even without the atmospheric indications, I still would have known. Tables are upturned, glassware smashed. There are blood drops staining some areas of the carpet.

Jennifer Jareau isn't home right now.


	7. VII

Para-Noir

VII

Emily and I both draw our weapons. While there appears to be no-one in the apartment now, hostiles could come at any second. She's holding the gun in her left hand, scanning the room with a sharp gaze.

'No-one's been here in a day at least,' she concludes. I nod.

'You two search the place. I'm going to see if the neighbors know anything.'

'Be careful,' she says. I almost smile. She sounds worried.

The apartments in this building are separated by more than just walls and doors. There is an invisible barrier that keeps the occupants closed off, isolated. Of course, it's the same all over the city; no matter how much time you spend with other people, in the end, you're always alone.

I holster my gun to knock on the door; I don't want to be blown away by a paranoid old lady. Even still, I hear the sound of a shotgun racking.

'What do you want?' a man's voice demands. It's filled with fear.

'My name is Aaron Hotchner.' Put a name to the voice. Personalize the situation. 'I'd like to talk to you.'

'I ain't talkin' to no-one.'

'Please, it won't take long. I'd just like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor.'

His voice tightens at that. 'My neighbor? That blond bitch? I don't have nothin' to do with her.'

I can sense his paranoia, and I don't particularly blame him.

'You don't have to open the door. I'd just like to know what happened to her.'

'What happened?' he snorts. 'Inquisitors came and took her away, that's what happened.'

***

'The Inquisitors took her,' I announce. Neither Penelope nor Emily look surprised.

'Is it because we were looking for her?' asks Penelope, 'Or is it something she did?' It's a rhetorical question, and we treat it as such.

'I think there's something under here,' Emily says. She's on her knees near the desk. Her injured arm is already at an odd angle. 'I can't quite…'

'Let me do that,' Penelope offers. 'You've already ruined your stitches once.' There is obvious humor in her voice. Emily gets out of her way.

The object that had presented Emily with so much difficulty was small, barely two inches long. 'A flash drive,' Penelope announces, handing it to me. I pocket it.

'And yet no computer. The Inquisitors must have taken it. Or looters.'

'I'd put my money on the Inquisitors,' Emily says. 'That's what they do, they inquisite.'

'We need to get to a computer. Find out what's on this.'

Sooner or later, the darkness reaches us all.

***

We're back at Hermes's lair. Emily looks wary; she doesn't like the idea of being at the same place two days in a row.

'We can't stay here long,' she warns us. Routine is something that gets you killed.

'Yo.' Hermes seems pleased to see us. I get the impression that he doesn't see real people all that often. Alone in the darkness.

'I haven't got anything on your other three yet,' he tells us.

'We're not here for that,' I say. 'Jennifer Jareau was taken by the Inquisitors.'

'Oh man.' He seems genuinely upset. 'I'm so sorry.' He knows what the Inquisitors do to people. I think he's had experience with them – either him or someone he loves. He knows how they tear lives apart. That's why he does this.

'I'll use up some favors,' he concludes. 'Find out what I can.'

'Do you have a machine I can use?' asks Penelope. She requisitions the flash drive from me. 'We need to find out what JJ was working on.'

***

Emily and I stand back, watching the two tech geniuses with interest. This isn't our domain.

We run on the other side of darkness.

'Okay,' Penelope says. 'We've got an encrypted folder here. Nothing I can't crack.' Her fingers fly across the keyboard until finally, she gives a satisfied sound.

'Got it.' We move forward, looking at the screen from over her shoulder. It's mostly text files, but there are a few videos, a few audio files. Penelope double-clicks on the file entitled "Memories".

_Woke up in the city four years ago._

_No real memories._

_BAU? – Organization of some kind? What do they do? How am I connected to them?_

_What is the city?_

_Why are we here?_

It's a preliminary list, I gather. The first questions to ask, but by no means the last. I wonder if my name is in one of those files somewhere, another lead to follow up on.

'I think she was writing an article,' says Penelope. 'Trying to expose the city for what it really was – in JJ's words "a prison of darkness."'

'Sounds about right,' I say gloomily.

'Does she have anything on the others?' Emily leans forward as Penelope searches for the other files.

'Nothing concrete on Derek Morgan or David Rossi. A few rumors, but nothing we can follow up on. Spencer Reid – there's a file on. We have a whereabouts for Spencer Reid. He's at a privately run facility that apparently keeps no internet accessible records.'

'What kind of facility?' I ask.

'Uh, let me see…' She stops. She stares. 'Oh.'

'What is it?' Emily asks.

'Spencer Reid is currently an inpatient at an institute for the criminally insane.'

Sometimes, the darkness is the only thing left.


	8. VIII

Para-Noir

VIII

She's sitting on the last of the three chairs in the room, eyes closed in thought.

'Problem?' I put a hand on her back. To her credit, she doesn't jump.

'I'm just thinking,' she says. 'Whichever way we proceed, it's going to be dangerous as hell. We can either infiltrate an Inquisitorial Torture Camp to find JJ, or infiltrate a restricted medical facility to find Reid.' She's using the familiar names without thought now, as though she knows these people without ever having actually met them. I feel the same way.

'We'll go for the asylum first,' she says.

She seems to have decided on finding Reid first. A moment later, she tells me why. 'It's not hard to get into an Inquisitorial Torture Camp. It's getting out that's the problem.' She speaks as though she's had some experience in that area, and I don't doubt that she has.

'Garcia,' Emily moves to stand next to Penelope. 'What can you tell me about this mental health facility? Do they do consults? Allow visitors? Any contact at all with the outside world?'

'No visitors allowed – these people are apparently the worst of the worst. They don't do consults, but sources say that they are looking for a full time counselor to join their staff.' She turns, looks at me critically. Emily does the same.

'I think maybe horn-rimmed glasses would do the trick,' Emily says finally. I immediately understand what she's getting at.

'Come on,' she says, pulling me to the door. 'I know a fake ID guy that owes me a favor.'

***

My new name is Randal Ward, psychiatrist. I have a new job history, new IDs, and since Emily asked nicely, a distinct lack of nasty skeletons in the closet. I've heard stories of people getting fake identities, only to be arrested for crimes they didn't commit. An ironic joke made by the forger.

She takes me to a marginally nicer part of town, where you're less likely to be disemboweled for your wallet. In this "nice" part of the city, a few rays of sun penetrate the clouds.

She holds my hand. A façade, I'm sure, but I grip her fingers warmly anyway, relishing the contact.

The clothes she got from the general store are evidently insufficient to maintain my cover – I need something a little nicer. Something that isn't covered in blood and dirt.

When we get back, Penelope has already emailed my fake résumé, complete with fake references. According to her, they're renowned for their quick response times. It almost seems too easy. I'll be going in alone; there's no other way.

In the city, you're always alone.

It takes less than three hours for a response. They've run my references, checked by background. Emily's source is nothing if not thorough.

'They want an interview,' announces Penelope. 'If the interview is successful, you will be taken on to staff immediately. If it is unsuccessful, you will be booted out immediately.'

I'm in my suit, those horn-rimmed glasses firmly in place. I have a leather briefcase and it's not filled with paperwork. Penelope gives me a quick briefing on how to operate the sophisticated gadgetry. Then, she gives me a long hug.

'Be careful, hot stuff,' she whispers.

And then I'm gone.

***

Emily goes with me as far as she can. While I'm gone, she's separating from Penelope for safety reasons. If there's anyone looking – and we know there is – they'll have a much harder time finding three individuals than a group of three.

'Do you think someone's on our side?' she asks me as the train slows to a stop. It's a more sparsely populated area of the city, smaller buildings, and greater distance between buildings. The institute is a few miles from here.

'What do you mean?'

'I was just thinking. If this were some giant conspiracy, then we would have been caught by now. As it is, while things aren't going spectacularly, they aren't going terribly either. I'm just wondering if there's someone trying to balance the score.' She gave the one armed shrug that was becoming habitual for her. Then, she got to business.

'Okay. What's your name?'

'My name is Randal Ward.'

'And why are you here?'

'I'm interested in branching out further in forensic psychology.'

'And who would you like to meet first?'

'Spencer Reid.'

The lies come easily as she tests my cover. I wonder if I was like this before, hiding away my inner darkness with half-truths and misdirection.

_She does the same thing_, a voice tells me. I wonder what she was before this. A friend? A lover? The few memories I have are non-specific.

'Goodbye,' she says. Then she pulls me in for a long kiss. 'And good luck.'

She leaves without further warning.

I'm on my own.

Just like everyone else.

**A/N: At least one person was wondering, but I'll make it clear that JJ _is _still alive - for now.**


	9. IX

Para-Noir

IX

I take a deep breath.

This interview room feels more like an interrogation room.

What memories do I have of interrogation rooms?

Is that me, talking to a man, telling him to confess? That doesn't seem my style. I don't interview murderers; I do a job and hand my findings to my clients.

Why do I remember a room like this?

Though I've never visited one – never walked the halls, never smelt the air – I get the strangest feeling that this is not your average mental hospital. Instead of that sterility I expect, there's an overshadowing darkness, one that goes beyond the influence of the city.

This is not a nice place.

***

After almost two hours of sitting, waiting, a man enters the room. He is wearing a dark suit that mirrors my own. His face is impassive, his eyes black holes.

He doesn't say anything yet, he merely sits, stares at me from the other side of the table. This _is_ an interrogation.

And I've never been on this side of the table.

'Your name is Aaron Hotchner,' he tells me. My jaw twitches almost imperceptibly.

'You must have me mistaken for someone else,' I say, but I know I'm not fooling him. I see his face, and it seems almost familiar. Do I know this man? Is he someone from another world? Another lifetime? Is he with the government, affiliated with the Inquisitors? Why is he so interested in who I really am?

'Well that's a pity.' He sighs. 'If you _were_ Aaron Hotchner, I might have an excuse to let you live. But if you're not, then I'm going to have to kill you just to stop you from talking.' He has a strange tone of voice when he says it, as though it's all some big joke, as if he's not really serious. As if he doesn't care.

I close my eyes, and I see his face. Grinning at me, talking to me. This man is a friend. We've fought together, side by side. We've worked together for so long. This man is like a brother to me.

'Dave?'

He pats me on the shoulder.

'I knew you'd remember me,' he says, and then he walks out of the room, leaving the door open for me to follow.

***

He sits me down in his office, makes sure that the door is locked.

He doesn't particularly want to be in this strange, dark place. But here he remains.

'To keep an eye on Reid?' I ask.

He nods.

'Can I talk to him?'

He shakes his head. 'Not right now. It's suspicious enough that I brought you in for an interview today. I don't want them thinking that anything else is up.'

So that explains one thing. He's in on this alone.

In this city, you're always alone, shrouded in darkness.

I wonder what it would take to return from whence we came. What sacrifices we will make, whether we will ever truly be the people we used to be.

'What do you remember?' I ask. I'm curious as to whether my own amnesia is as severe as everyone else's. Perhaps their memories are clearer, perhaps even more ambiguous.

'Me? Not that much. Names, faces, a few events.'

His words are leaving me open, begging me to ask the question that I know I need to ask.

'And Reid? What does he remember?'

'Reid?' David Rossi scoffs. 'Reid remembers everything.'

For some strange reason, I am not at all surprised.

***

He takes me to my quarters, tells me that officially, the job is mine. Unofficially – well, we can plan that later.

I tell him of how I've been with Penelope for the last three years, of how Emily found us yesterday. Was it really just yesterday? It feels like so much longer. I tell him of how there is no sign of Morgan, and that JJ has been taken by the Inquisitors.

He swears at that.

'They take away the people that know too much,' he says. 'The people that they think might have a chance of escaping the city and telling the real world. Here…they don't bother us here. They think everyone here is delusional. They don't take any notice of inpatients talking about strange otherworlds.'

'Is that what we're going to do?' I ask. 'Are we going to escape the city? Return to this…other life?'

He looks around. Though the lights are on, it is still a place of darkness. A place where people die at the touch of a hat. A place where Inquisitors take you away for knowing too much. This darkness…it mirrors my darkness. The tales I won't tell, the deaths that are all my fault.

I need this city. Need this darkness. Need Emily.

The truth is, I don't know if I want to leave.


	10. X

Para-Noir

X

I've been in this place two days. I am used to the darkness, but this is a different kind of darkness. This kind of darkness is concentrated in the minds of the people here. Shadows in thought and memory. I have intermittent memories of dealing with this kind of darkness; psychopathic killers, sadistic torturers. These things are all so familiar.

On the second day, Dave accompanies me to an interview with a patient. It isn't Reid. I need to work my way up to Reid.

It feels so natural to look into their minds, to understand what they are thinking. I tell Dave this.

'Sounds about right,' he tells me.

'What do you mean?'

'Well before this…before the city. We were profilers. We studied criminal minds.'

I have another flashing memory; a man, standing opposite me. Emily is behind him. He is talking, his voice shaking.

'_I may have done some things that you couldn't _possibly _understand_…_'_

Her look is a mixture of disgust and hatred.

I don't think I do understand the darkness.

I embrace it, I relish it, I need it, but I don't understand it.

But then, I guess that depends on the kind of darkness you're talking about.

***

That night, I dream. I don't think they're the result of suppressing my subconscious, though. I think these are memories.

Forty years in Technicolor. I see it, but I don't quite process it. I can see myself at that sixth birthday party, but it doesn't feel like me. I can see myself graduating high school, getting married, but it doesn't feel like me.

Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. Who is this man, and why does he have the same name as me? He isn't me, is he?

But then, I see. I see the darkness that haunts him just as it haunts me. I see the horror that he keeps bottle up inside of him. I see the feelings that he cannot feel. The truths that he can't admit.

We are one and the same, but we are different.

I see Emily. She's got that intense look in her eyes that I've come to love.

'_I think politics makes people distrustful. I think it makes them hate themselves. I think it tears families apart and damages people.'_

I'm surprised at how much hate she can put into so few words. Is it me that she's angry at? Has she seen my darkness?

My ears are ringing in pain, and she's there, supporting me. That isn't hate in her eyes. That's fear, concern. The same fear that I feel when I hear her whimpers, the smashing of glass. The same concern I feel when I see her covered in cuts and bruises, shirt soaked with blood.

My memories, my identity, they are still vague when I wake in the morning. I feel exhausted in the wake of my troubled sleep. I feel sunlight shining through the darkness.

But only a little.

***

'Rough night?' Dave asks me as I enter his office. My tie is askew, and my hair is uncombed. It doesn't take a so-called "profiler" to notice this.

'Memories,' I tell him. 'Good and bad.'

'It's the same with me,' he says. 'One night I'll be on my honeymoon, and the next I'm giving away half my savings in alimony.'

'It's strange,' I say. 'That we only begin to remember when we want to remember. Before yesterday, I was perfectly content living my life without invoking the wrath of the Inquisitors.'

Dave shrugs. 'Knowledge is like a drug. Once you get one hit, you just want to know more. That's why the Inquisitors take all the curious people away. It's damage control.'

'But why?' I muse. It's that question that we always seem to come back to. 'Why bring us to this place? Why keep us here? Is it a prison? Some kind of alternate reality? Is it purgatory?'

I'd never have asked these kinds of questions before. My reality has twisted itself, spiraling downwards in an unending Gordian knot.

I know that if I ever go back to my life before – either of my lives before – things will never be the same. Things will always be tainted by this new darkness.

'I've got news,' Dave tells me. He sounds almost jovial – it's jovial for him, at least.

'What?' I'm curious. What kind of news could this be?

'Today,' he tells me. 'Today you get to see Reid.'

I nod, satisfied. I wonder what kind of darkness lurks in the mind of Spencer Reid.


	11. XI

Para-Noir

XI

He looks unnaturally thin. A skeleton with skin barely clinging to him. His eyes are sunken and hollow. They've put him in a straitjacket, yet I can see his limbs twitching rhythmically beneath it.

His mood changes drastically when he sees me enter. 'Hotch!' He's excited, eager, like a puppy bursting for attention. He looks like he wants to hug me, but the straitjacket stops that. I stare at it, wondering.

'Escapology isn't really my thing,' he admits.

I nod. 'Forgive me,' I say. 'But I don't quite remember everything, so…'

He nods, visibly upset.

He is alone in the darkness.

He starts at the beginning. He tells me my name, my age, my place of birth. He tells me how I was with SWAT, was a prosecutor. Though it all makes sense, it still seems like someone else's life.

With some hesitation – and my own assurances – he tells me about the death of my wife and son. A killer, taunting us, taunting this "Behavioral Analysis Unit". He would send "gifts", corpses decorated with photos of our personal lives, family memorabilia. Then, he started to take things one step further.

One day, Morgan's dog. Disemboweled. Defiled.

The next day, my wife and son.

My darkness in my heart sings out, as if it is telling me that it has always been there. I think about this tragedy, this trauma, and I wonder – what if this is all in my head. What if this city, this dark city, is simply my mind's way of dealing with these events?

I express these concerns to Reid, who answers with a short laugh. 'I've often thought the same things myself,' he says. 'They say that one important argument against Solipsism is the faculty of language.' When I don't say anything, he continues. 'Solipsism is the belief that an individual's mind is the only thing he can be sure exists. One key argument against solipsism is that we would have no need for language. Though with a mind that's sufficiently developed…' He trails off at the look on my face.

'What?' he asks me innocently.

'Now I know it's real,' I tell him. 'Because I know my mind couldn't think that stuff up.'

***

I fill him in on the events outside the institute, a story to which he listens intently. His eyes widen when I tell him of JJ's fate.

'And we still haven't found Morgan,' I conclude.

'What will we do once we've regrouped?' he asks me, as if he values my leadership. I remember then, that technically speaking, I am his boss.

'I don't know,' I say truthfully. I was reluctant to return to the real world, but now that I've seen its darkness, I realize it isn't so different from the city. There are the same depravities, the same horrors that lurk this world. The difference is, the real world is real, or it will be once I remember it.

Until then, I'll stay undecided.

The notion does bring me to another point. How did we get here? And how, if we so choose, do we leave?

'I wish I could tell you.' Reid gives me a grim smile. I see that loneliness in his eyes. For him, it is less figurative. I imagine that Dave comes to see him every now and then, but sitting in this still, silent room with no other company is another kind of loneliness altogether.

'I'll get you out of here,' I say. 'I'll get you out of this city.'

But I don't know if I'll be joining you.

***

That night, Dave and I discuss escape options. I know that the security cameras can be disabled, because he managed to do that for my short chat with Reid.

I have an idea.

'The computer systems,' I say. 'There're not connected to the outside network?'

'No.' He raises an eyebrow, wonders exactly what I'm getting at.

'But they can be? In case of an emergency?'

He nods. 'Flip of a switch.' It's what I was hoping for.

If I can get in contact with Penelope, then she can shut down their entire network remotely. After that, we might be one step closer to knowing the truth.

Together.

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. I'm really bad at drawing things out. I am incredibly impatient. One day I'd like to do a collab with someone who can actually write long chapters :/. Looking today I realized that I have six stories that I'm working on, so I've put up a poll on my profile page if anyone wanted to vote on which I should be prioritizing. Don't forget to review.**


	12. XII

Para-Noir

XII

I'm running through the hallways. The network is down, and I have a limited amount of time before they get it back up again.

The door to Reid's cell, for lack of a better word, has swung open. All the doors in this building are controlled electronically. With the network down, the locks have failed. I wonder if any of the other patients are lucid enough to notice the difference.

'Are you ready?' I fiddle with the buckles on his straitjacket. He pulls his arms free, stretching them.

'It feels good to get out of that thing,' he tells me. I can almost understand. I have experienced emotional and psychological ensnarement, but not so much physical.

'Garcia's waiting for us.' I don't mention how difficult it was to get the message to her without throwing up red flags. I'm not even sure that I didn't throw up red flags.

We meet Dave at the exit. He's got blood on his knuckles, and I'm not really sure I want to know what he did to cause a distraction. Whatever it was, it worked.

'They'll be caught up for a while,' he says casually, as if talking about what he had for breakfast this morning.

And then we stroll purposefully out of the dilapidated building, trading one darkness for another.

***

There's a car waiting for us at the end of the street. It's a dull gray, indistinguishable from any other car you might see on the street. I know if Penelope got her way, it would probably have been painted a violent purple and covered with flowers. Fortunately, that would have drawn unnecessary attention. In any case, it's Hermes's car.

Hermes is sitting in the driver's seat, tapping on the steering wheel. 'Hurry up,' he calls to us. 'Inquisitors are coming.'

I realize then that our rescue mission might have put Reid into the hands of the very people he was once safe from.

We've been driving for barely a minute when bullets start to strike the body of the car.

'Any weapons?' I ask Hermes, ducking down below the back seat, in spite of the insubstantial cover it provides.

'I don't usually get involved in physical violence,' he explains apologetically. I don't have my gun with me; I couldn't take it into the institute.

'Stop the car,' I order him. It never ceases to amaze me how sometimes people will just listen to what I say. 'Split up. They can't follow all of us.'

I don't stop to see if anyone else gets away, though I desperately want to. I draw attention to my own escape, to make sure that they follow me. It works, partially. Two Inquisitors veer off in my direction, whilst the remaining one follows one of the others, I can't see who.

I zigzag, feeling bullets bounce off the pavement. Adrenaline pumps through my body, matching blood beat for beat. I turn the corner, find myself in an alleyway. I can't turn back, so I fervently hope that there's an escape of some kind at the other end.

Is this where my luck has run out?

Surrounded by darkness on all sides.

I take cover behind a dumpster, trying to control my breathing as bullets whiz far too close. I can't see any exit.

The Inquisitors capture, rather than kill. I'm not sure if I want to be captured. I've heard stories of the pain and suffering that accompanies capture. I've seen the darkness in Emily's eyes.

I think maybe I'll fight back. Die trying.

Forgive me Emily.

There's a different sound. Different gunshots.

The Inquisitors use different ammunition to the rest of us. It's designed to incapacitate rather than kill, though, with enough of it, death would come.

This sound is heavier, louder. The kind of ammunition used by people who want to kill with the first shot. Assassins, gangers, seekers. I wonder if my good luck _has _kept itself up. If a seeker has come to this neighborhood, looking to bag a few Inquisitors.

The gunfire stops.

There is the sound of footsteps in my direction.

'Come on out,' the voice says. It's deep, rife with rough edges. I'm fairly sure I've got a better chance with this man than with the Inquisitors.

He's tall, muscular. Dark skin. He's wearing a loose singlet top, and has a bandana tied around his bald head. He holds the weapon with both hands, pointing it right at my chest. When he looks at my face, his hands drop.

'Hotch?'

And then I know that this could only be Derek Morgan.


	13. XIII

Para-Noir

XIII

'We need to help the others,' I tell Derek. I immediately begin to run. I don't know who the other Inquisitor was following, but I need to kill it now. Derek pulls me back.

'I sent my boys after the other one,' he explains. It is then that I realize that we are not alone in this alleyway. Half a dozen armed individuals stand at the street edge, waiting for orders.

'Split up and move out.' Derek is the one giving the order. It doesn't surprise me; he gives off a natural air of authority, a casual confidence.

I open my mouth to ask about my friends, but he preempts me. 'We'll all meet back at HQ.'

I don't ask what HQ is, or why it's so important, but I let Derek lead me there at a fast pace.

'They'll be sending more,' he tells me, but he doesn't need to. I already know.

'Who do you have with you?' he asks me, when we're a good distance from the alleyway.

Instead of telling him straight out, I explain how we came to rescue Reid from the institute and found Rossi as well. 'Emily was with us, but she thought it would be better if we parted company temporarily to avoid detection.' He nods, and then I give him the worst of my news. 'The Inquisitors have JJ.'

'Damn it.' He clenches his knuckles.

The rest of our journey is conducted in silence.

***

When I finally see them, the others are alive, but shaken. Penelope has a cut on her left cheek, that is dripping blood to the floor, but she doesn't seem to notice. She pulls me into an asphyxiating hug. Then, she turns to Derek.

There is a sudden stillness.

Then she jumps onto him.

In their lingering embrace, I can see everything that we've been fighting for. Loyalty, love, friendship. The very meaning of our existence. All compounded into a single hug.

'Hey, baby girl.' He speaks as if it's just another day, as if he's actually seen her at one point in the last five years. As if he actually remembers having met her. But it's an attitude we've all adopted – just go along with it, even if we have no idea why.

'Hey, chocolate thunder,' she replied, her voice muffled by his chest.

Eye watched us from the darkness. Eyes of children, of adults, of men, of women. These are the people that Morgan has been protecting. A gang, some might call it.

I think a better word is family.

Can we really ask him to leave these people behind? To abandon them to the darkness that is the city?

No. That's not fair. But to free them from the darkness? That's plausible.

'So how do we get in contact with Emily?' Reid asks. The tension that had graced his face within the institute had lifted, replaced with, of all things, hope.

'She gave me a phone number.' Garcia reaches into her pocket, pulls out a scrap of paper. 'And an access code.' Because it really could be anyone calling.

'Do you have a secure line?' she asks Derek. He nods, and we follow him through dark passageways. Several curious heads pop out of doorways, intrigued by the sudden commotion.

Garcia dials the number, and puts the receiver to her ear. 'Static,' she reveals. Then, she inputs the access code. She sounds apprehensive, then her expression softens. 'It's a message,' she says. She listens to it intently before her face drops. Wordlessly, she hands the receiver to me.

The message repeats.

'I've been asking around, trying to find out where they've taken JJ. I recorded this message the day we separated. If it's still the same two days after that, then chances are I've been taken too. I'm sorry, Hotch. If you go to a place called the Devil's Square, you'll be able to find out more. Good luck.'

The receiver slips from my hand.

**A/N: Yes, again, it's short. I promise I'll learn to write longer chapters one day. Thanks to Arcadya for motivating me with the latest chapter of Fragmentary. I have a pretty good idea how this story is going to pan out from here on in, so as long as I don't have a heart attack or anything like that, they should come pretty quickly.**

**Oh, and for those of you who voted in the poll, Para-Noir is on top by one vote. I really wasn't expecting Shadows of the Mind to do so well, but there you have it; this is my top priority for now. **

**DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW.**

**Tfm.**


	14. XIV

Para-Noir

XIV

I want to go to the Devil's Square immediately, but I am vetoed by Dave.

'Look at us,' he says. 'We're running on empty. If we go now, we'll get ourselves killed, and they will _still_ have Emily and JJ. We need to clean up, get something to eat, and above all, get some sleep.'

I realize that he is right, but it doesn't make me any less impatient.

'This is the point of no return, isn't it?' wonders Derek aloud. 'We do this, and there's no going back. No alternatives. We either rescue Emily and JJ and escape the city, or we die trying.'

He's right. There is no other way. To take on the Inquisitors and remain in the city would be suicide.

We will either flee the darkness, or succumb to it.

In the end, either choice leads to darkness.

***

As I poke at the food on my plate, I am silent. The others are talking with as much animation as they can muster. They're grateful to be in each other's presence, but at the same time, they mourn the absence of Emily and JJ.

After dinner, Derek gives a speech. It's mostly for the benefit of his crew, but the rest of us listen on anyway.

'Things are changing.'

He never had this kind of responsibility before. This city has changed him, and I'm not entirely sure it's for the worse.

'For four years we've fought against oppression, against senseless deaths, against torture. And for what? A few more hours of freedom? It stops here. Tomorrow, we take the fight to them. Either we win, or we die.'

The words strike with brutal honesty. The only third option I can see is a lifetime of that torture he mentioned.

'You don't have to fight the big fight. I know that each and every one of you is capable of leading this group yourselves. I'm not forcing you to come; this is a decision you have to make on your own. But once we begin this, there's no stopping.'

'What about the rest of the people in the city?' The question is asked by someone up the back, and noises of agreement are made throughout the room.

Derek's voice softens. 'We can't make their decisions for them.'

We can't save the people who don't want to be saved. And we can't save everyone, no matter how much we might want to.

I just hope we can save Emily and JJ.

***

Hermes knows some people about a mile from the Devil's Square, so that's where we set off to at first light. We travel in small groups. I'm with Penelope, Hermes and a few of Derek's friends.

Their response was overwhelming. Not a single one chose to stay behind. There's close to fifty people crammed into a Safehouse designed for maybe twenty. In the end, it is just Derek and I who go to the Devil's Square.

It's a bar – dark, seedy, and very at home in this city. Patrons of every variety lurk, some with half-empty glasses clutched in their hands, others conducting business in hushed voices. I go straight to the bartender.

'I'm looking for Emily,' I tell him. He eyes me warily, as if he isn't sure whose side I'm on, isn't sure if I can be trusted.

'You got a name?'

'Hotch.' He nods once, puts down the weapon I knew he was holding, and silently walks into the back room.

We follow him into the darkness.

What we learn shouldn't surprise us.

'She was asking around, trying to find out where they took your friend – JJ, was it? She told me to tell you that you are not under any circumstances allowed to go looking for her if she disappeared. That if she was captured trying to find JJ, then they're both as good as dead anyway, and you should get out of the city while you still can.'

Silence.

And then: 'She left you a note as well.' He passes the slip of paper to me. It's the same precise handwriting that was on the last note she gave me. I feel a twang of pain at the memory.

The note reads, "Never forget who you really are."

And who am I?

Am I Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, or am I Private Detective Aaron Hotchner.

Do I belong to the city of dark, or the city of light?

Derek looks at me, his expression matching my own. 'We can't just leave them to die,' he says. I nod.

My name is Aaron Hotchner. I don't know where I belong, don't know where I want to be, but I do know one thing.

I never leave an agent behind.

**A/N: Okay. This story I'm playing by ear. I started off with a vague idea of where I wanted to go, and I got to a point where I couldn't really explain anything away as a naturally occurring phenomenon. I had considered making the whole thing a post-psychotic break hallucination on Hotch's part, but that felt a little clichéd, so instead we're moving in a quasi sci-fi territory. Don't let that deter you.**

**REVIEW.**


	15. XV

Para-Noir

XV

I've never been bait before. Today, I insisted on it.

Penelope put a tracker in my shoe; Derek assures me that they will not find it. While the Inquisitors may use technological methods to find their "victims", they prefer brute force for all encounters thereafter. The thought doesn't particularly comfort me.

What do I do to become bait? I go to one of the most Inquisitor-friendly bars in the area, and I ask them how I escape the city. Not even a minute has passed before I feel a rough hand on my shoulder.

'Offer submission.' The voice nearly bursts my eardrums – eardrums that were already sensitive to loud noises. I don't move. I don't make any gesture that could be considered a threat.

It knocks me over the back of the head anyway.

All I know is darkness.

All I've ever known is darkness.

***

No-one knows where the Inquisitors take people. I guess it's because over the years, we've all learned that it's best to avoid them, ignore them altogether. I've heard stories of people mounting rescue missions, attack missions. They've all failed. We've just got to hope that ours goes a little bit better.

I awake to darkness. Real, pitch black darkness.

I groan. My head hurts.

'Is someone there?' It's not Emily's voice, but it is female. Could this be the illustrious Jennifer Jareau?

'JJ?'

'Hotch, is that you?'

Score one for the good guys.

Why they've put us in the same cell, I have no idea. I scramble about in a rather undignified manner, trying to get to my feet. Overcome with a sudden pain, I settle for sitting cross-legged.

'How long have you been here?' I ask her. I move a hand in front of my face, trying to individuate my fingers. I think I can vaguely make out the outline. I don't envy JJ. I wonder if she's been sitting here in the dark for days. I wonder how that has affected her psychologically.

'Four days.' She seems confident about that much at least.

'I'm supposed to be sleeping,' she reveals. 'That's why the lights are off. They'll put them back on in the morning.'

I'm somewhat confused. 'Shouldn't they be torturing you? That's what they do, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' she says. 'They started to, but then stopped for some reason.' I think about the events of the last few days, and I wonder what could have possibly deterred them.

Just one thing springs to mind.

'Have you seen Emily?' I ask her.

'No.' Her voice takes on an almost fearful tone. 'Is she here?'

'I think so.' The truth is, I don't really know.

I want to ask her what they're looking for, why they're doing this. I'm fairly sure that asking her now isn't exactly the best idea.

'You should get some sleep,' she advises me. 'I get the feeling things are going to be changing in the morning.'

Somehow, I don't doubt that.

***

I wake to a bright light, its intensity assaulting my retinas. For the first time in so long, there is something other than darkness. It's not so comforting a thought.

JJ is already awake, sitting up against the wall, staring into the stark emptiness that surrounds us. Her eyes are deep abysses. Vacant. Her hair is streaked with blood.

I wonder vaguely if the city has taken away our souls. If all we are here is a weak imitation of our former lives. I don't remember enough to judge that, but it wouldn't surprise me if that were the case.

'You're bleeding,' I observe, looking for a reaction from her more than anything else.

'It'll heal.'

'Everything's going to be okay,' I assure her, but I'm not sure I believe it myself. This journey has been a strange one, and not altogether pleasant.

I hear footsteps. Giant echoing thuds that send the floor into trembles. An Inquisitor is coming. JJ tightens, apprehensive.

As the door swings open, I am holding my breath. Seconds seem to last hours.

A body is thrown to the floor, limp. Emily. The door shuts.

I rush over there, place a finger to her neck. Her pulse is slow, weak. She's bleeding in more places than I care to count right now, with harsher wounds than I care to examine. Unconscious, but alive.

Let the games begin.


	16. XVI

Para-Noir

XVI

I reach for the tracker in my shoe, turn it on. It's letting Penelope know that we're all together now. That they can put the plan into action.

'Emily?' I brush away a strand of hair that's sticking to her cheek. The skin beneath it is badly bruised – It sickens me to imagine what they've been doing to her.

'Hotch?' Her eyes flicker open, her voice low and soft with a panicked edge. 'I told you to stay away.' She tries to sit up, but doesn't quite make it all the way. Instead, she suffices with leaning into my shoulder. She closes her eyes. She's trying to hide the pain that's coursing through her body, but I don't miss the signs.

JJ doesn't say anything; she's letting us have our moment. For that I am grateful.

I don't know how many more moments we'll have.

***

The moment lasts maybe fifteen minutes. I have enough time to examine the wound on her shoulder – it's red and raw and starting to show signs of infection. I am checking her hairline for cuts when the door swings open. An Inquisitor stands there, towering above us.

This one seems different than the other ones I've seen.

'That's their torturer,' JJ tells me. Well that would explain it.

The Inquisitor stands aside, two more walk in. 'Hold them still,' the torturer orders.

I'm pulled to my feet, my arms pinned behind my back. The third Inquisitor does the same to JJ. Almost immediately, I can see what's going to happen.

'No!' I yell. I struggle fruitlessly against the arms holding me.

Emily stares up into the soulless eyes of the torturer. He simply stands there, unmoving. I'm not prepared for what comes next. I could never prepare myself for that.

It's a loud, piercing scream. If there were windows in this room, I'm sure they would have shattered. As it stands, I'm sure I felt my heart shatter. The sight of it is equally as terrible as the sound. I see the Inquisitor's hand descend upon her, palm to the chest. I see the electricity trickle through is fingers. I see her arc backwards, head slamming into the floor. I see the pain that anguishes her, the breaths escaping in short bursts.

And I know that there is nothing that I can do.

A tiny voice reminds me that this is what their captives go through every day.

Anger accompanies the pain. Darkness is descending over me.

'You will reveal your knowledge.' The torture doesn't look at Emily when he says this. He – it? – is looking in my direction. They know Emily won't talk, so they're trying to break us instead.

'Don't,' Emily whispers. Her head has rolled to the side. She seems so peaceful in amongst all this terror.

'You will comply.'

Another scream.

'WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!' I yell, and as far as I'm aware, it's pretty close to the truth. We have spent days trying to figure things out, but ultimately, we don't know anything. We know who we are. We know – to some extent – who we were. We don't know why we're here. We don't know how to escape.

I wonder why they care. Why not just kill us anyway? Save the chance of any information getting out. Save the chance of anyone finding out how to leave.

Then, I realize.

What a fool I've been. Why hadn't I see this before?

Why would they torture someone to find out something they already know?

A third scream. I can imagine that if the Inquisitor were human, he would have a deranged look on his face. The look of a man who would do anything to get his own way.

But the Inquisitor isn't human.

That's the problem.

'What do you want to know?' I ask them calmly, though part of me wants to release my unfathomable rage upon them.

On the floor, almost unconscious, Emily is whispering, 'No…'

'You will tell us how to escape this city.'

And then I know.

They don't run this city.

They're looking for a way home.

Just like us.

**A/N: I would have had this up much earlier, but I find it harder to write in this crippling heat. CURSE YOU, SUMMER.**

**Who liked the twist? Who hated it? Who thought that the Inquisitor should have been Strauss in disguise? Let me know:  
**

**REVIEW.**


	17. XVII

Para-Noir

XVII

No sooner than I realize that the Inquisitors are not what they seem, I am dropped to the floor; my captor and his companions exiting the room with reverberating steps.

I rush over to Emily, JJ not far behind me. She looks up with tired eyes. I brush at her cheek, feeling unable to comfort her without hurting her. She gives me a wan smile. She knows. She closes her eyes, but the breathing continues, ragged and slow.

'They'll be back,' JJ warns me. When I raise an eyebrow, questioning her, she adds. 'They'll torture you for a bit, then let your recover – think about your options – and then they'll torture you some more.'

She has bitterness in her voice. I know immediately that they've used that method on her. Later, I'll console her, but first I need to know if Emily is going to be alright.

"Alright" is an over-exaggeration for what I see; as far as I can tell, she'll probably survive, providing that there's no further trauma. Beyond that, though, I see just what the city has done to her. I see how thin she is, I see the darkness in her eyes that will never go away, I see the tremors that ravage her. In my memories, she isn't like this. In my memories, she is smiling, a pillar of strength. It takes a powerful person to survive what she's been through, what we've all been through.

'I love you,' she tells me, grasping my hand as it transcends her cheek. Our fingers intertwine, the most intimate contact we can afford ourselves.

'I'll get you out of here,' I promise her.

I just hope that it's a promise I can keep.

***

I hear the footsteps before I see the Inquisitors. I feel Emily's fingers tighten around mine, I feel her pulse begin to accelerate. The three of us stare apprehensively at the door.

We jump when the gunshots sound. I know what's coming, and yet I find myself scared to death anyway. But not for me.

It's Derek that busts the door down; Dave and Reid aren't far behind him. While Dave and Derek look perfectly at home wielding the heavy weaponry, Reid looks comically overarmed.

I jump to my feet, move to pick up Emily, and I falter. I don't have the strength to even do that. I hadn't even noticed that my own body had thrown itself beyond the point of exhaustion.

Derek hands me his gun. 'I've got her,' he assures me, and I trust him implicitly.

'Can you walk?' Dave asks JJ. She gives him an indecipherable look, as if grateful to be thought of, yet at the same time, insulted that he would ask.

'I'm fine,' she settles on.

But none of us are fine. None of us will ever be fine.

***

Derek tells us of the Inquisitors' operations. It's not one massive hub, but hundreds and hundreds of smaller enclaves; harder if you're interested in bringing down all of them at once, but easier for a pinpointed attack, like the one we accomplished. I realize how lucky we were to have been imprisoned in the same facility. Then, I think, it might not be just luck.

After the rescue operation, we retreated deeper into the city. It was more densely populated there, and, while there were a greater number of Inquisitors, it would be much harder for them to find us.

The team – minus Emily – is sitting around a table, drinking weak coffee from chipped mugs. The safehouse's medical center checked her out; my assessment was slightly off. She probably would have died in there, even without further Inquisitor intervention. It'll take a while for her to heal, and until she does, we're sticking around here.

'So…we can't rely on the Inquisitors to get us out of here,' says Derek dully.

'That was my assessment.' Of course, I could be wrong.

'No, it makes sense.' Reid agrees with me. 'It would be far more beneficial for a controlling power to kill the people who might now their secrets, as opposed to torturing them.'

The revelation is not at all comforting. We now have to worry about the Inquisitors, and a third party, an unknown. It's a subject that warrants further discussion, yet no-one feels like talking about it right now.

Then, JJ voices the question we've all been pondering, yet none have put out there.

'What if there is no escape? What if we're stuck here forever?'

On either side of the coin, I have darkness. It's a different kind of darkness, and yet somehow it's the same. Whichever world I choose, the darkness will remain.

I know that in the end, I'll make whichever choice keeps me with my friends. My family.

**A/N: I apologize for not having this up earlier. I had work, and then I had lots of drinking. So it's four a.m, and I'm wired, and I think I might go to bed before I have to work again. But you know what? It's only been three days since I updated this anyway, and I still think that's not too bad. For those of you who have read my other H/P fic, there's a poll up on my profile page that you should read. Read up, and peace out. TFM.**


	18. XVIII

Para-Noir

XVIII

I'm sitting at Emily's bedside when JJ walks in, my hand on hers. My back is to the door, but I recognize – I remember – the clicking of her heels against the hard floor. She puts a hand on my shoulder. She exudes so much warmth with just that single touch.

'How's she doing?' She speaks softly, so as not to disturb Emily. I watch the rise and fall of her chest with some anticipation, as if I think it might stop at any moment.

'She…did they do this to you?' I choke the words out, knowing that I don't want to answer the question that she actually asked me.

'They started to. Not as severely, and not as long. They apparently thought that she was more…useful.' She gives a bitter laugh, as if she knows something that no-one else does.

'You know something?' I jerk up a little too suddenly, eliciting a whimper from Emily in her unconscious state. I lift my hand gently and turn to JJ. 'You know something?' I say it a little softer, and only now do I realize how eager I sound. It seems strange that only days ago I was unsure of my intentions.

'Not now,' she tells me. 'Look at yourself.' I do, and I realize what she's trying to say. Two day's worth of stubble adorns my chin; I haven't changed my clothes or even washed myself in that space of time. 'As soon as she's feeling better – when we're all feeling better – we'll discuss how we're getting home. But I don't think anyone's up for it right now.'

'Up for what?' Emily's voice startles us. I curse myself, realizing that my sudden jerking motion had been more detrimental than I had first thought. She sounds exhausted, weak, almost. It strikes me then how close I came to losing her. How much it would break me if I did.

I wonder – are these people the only ones preventing me from being swallowed by the darkness? If I lost them, would I lose myself? Would I be left to wander all alone in the darkness? I don't really want to find out.

'Hey,' I greet her. It's the only greeting I can manage right now. She tries to sit up, but is stopped by my hand and her own pain. 'How're you feeling?' It feels like a stupid question, but I need to know. I need to know that her pain has started to slip away, that it isn't going to be a constant reminder of the horrors we've been through – that she's been through.

'Sore, tired. But better than before.' I don't need to ask when "before" was. I'll never forget the sound of her screams, the image of her thrashing body. It will be burnt into my memory for all time. It's been two days, and it is still fresh in my mind.

'You should get some rest,' I tell her. She's been unconscious for almost two days, but that doesn't change the fact that she needs as much sleep as she can get.

'I will if you will,' she tells me, giving a critical glance at my disheveled state.

'Go,' JJ urges me. 'She's not going to be left alone.'

***

I sleep for nearly fourteen hours. I double-take when I first look at my watch afterwards, unconvinced that I was really that tired. I shower, shave, put on fresh clothes. By the end of it, I'm almost looking human.

I rush back to the hospital room, as if waiting even a second longer will throw me over the edge. I'm not entirely sure that it won't.

Despite the sleep I know she's had, she still looks tired. She's sitting up now, so that's something to be happy about. And she's not alone. The whole team is there, I realize. Derek and Penelope are sitting on either side of her. Reid, Dave and JJ are seated in scattered chairs.

'We've been waiting for you,' JJ tells me. She turns to the rest of them in turn, as if drawing out the moment before she reveals what she's learnt. She begins to detail the research she undertook to get to this point, but I hold up a hand to stop her.

'Just…cut to the chase,' I tell her, trying to sound as polite as possible.

'Oh.' She sounds a little downtrodden. Part of me thinks that she's wanted to tell this story for a while. 'Well, I finally got into contact with a man named Dr. Hans Berkstein – he's a quantum physicist. Complete nutjob.'

'And?' Reid asks.

'He tells me that this city – this world – is some kind of alternate reality. "A single strand in the multiverse."'

And for some reason, that doesn't seem to surprise any of us.

**A/N: Welcome to the quasi-sci-fi zone. Please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle. I know how this story is going to end, I just have to work out how to get there. The end is in sight!...OR IS IT?**

**P.S. Dr. Hans Berkstein can also be found in "Shadows of the Mind". I didn't really want to go to the trouble of creating another quantum physicist character when I had one handy.  
**

**Read and Review – tfm.**


	19. XIX

Para-Noir

XIX

'Okay, Reid.' I summon the younger man's attention. 'We need alternate universes for dummies.'

He hesitates, and thinks for a moment. 'Okay. A generic prediction of cosmic inflation is an infinite ergodic universe, which, being infinite, must contain Hubble volumes realizing all initial conditions…' He trails off at the look on my face.

'_For dummies_,' I reiterate, though I know none of us are idiots in the general sense of the word.

'Oh…okay.' He tries again. 'Say you're on a train, and that train is going past the events of history – there's the dinosaurs, the Russian Revolution, World War I. At certain points on the track, the train might be diverted onto a track where a key event in the shaping of history didn't occur. So, if we theorize that each universe is simply a train track, then we are now on train track A, and our world – our universe – is train track B. At one point in history, these tracks split from each other, creating two new tracks, or two new universes.'

'So how do we get back?' I ask. It's a rhetorical question, but with Reid, there's rarely such thing as a rhetorical question.

'I don't know,' he says. 'It's a purely theoretical concept.'

'_Was,_' corrects Emily.

'What?'

'It _was_ a purely theoretical concept. I think we're beyond theory now.' I get the feeling she was already familiar with the ideas behind alternate universes.

'In that case.' I turn to JJ. 'This Doctor Berkstein – does he know any way of getting out?'

She shakes her head. 'He told me that if he knew that, he sure as hell wouldn't still be here.'

'But he's looking for a way?' I press the issue. If we can't find someone who has a better idea of what's going on, then we may well be trapped here.

She nods. 'But he's paranoid. He keeps moving – he's got to keep the Inquisitors off his tail. Unfortunately, that means it's pretty hard for any of the rest of us to find him as well.'

'You found him though?' I ask, though it isn't really a question.

'It took a long time,' is all she says, but I get the feeling that there's a little more to the story.

I nod. 'Help Garcia track him down. Be careful, and stay _off_ the radar,' I warn them. They don't need warning. I turn to Reid. 'See if you can find out just where this universe differs from ours. Historically, geographically, anything you can find.' I have no other tasks to give out – there's nothing else _to_ do.

I'm pretty sure we all need the rest anyway.

***

'I should be able to get out of bed tomorrow,' she tells me. 'Maybe walk around for a bit. To me, it feels as though her recovery is taking forever, when in reality, it has barely been a day. This world seems to mess with my sense of time. Minutes feel like hours, hours feel like days. When you're with someone you love, when you're content, this can be a good thing. But when that person is in pain…

'It'll be okay.' She smiles at me, and it's gotten to a point where I'm not sure if I can tell the difference between her real smile, and the one she puts on when she doesn't want anyone to worry about her. Either way, it's not working. I still worry.

My memories have been returning in greater and greater droves. Dreams and nightmares. Flashes of Technicolor death. Only a few blank spots remain, yet I know for certain that I am not the same man I was. That man wouldn't be grasping her hand as though he might lose her at any moment. That man never even saw what was right in front of him; a woman that was so alike, and yet so different. She shared his inner darkness, his professionalism, and yet she still managed to exude a friendly, caring nature that he could never hope to achieve. I hope I'm beyond that now.

I know that when – if – we return to our own world, the home of this_ other_ Aaron Hotchner, things will never, ever be the same.

And I'm okay with that.

**A/N: Reid's first alternate universes lecture is from Wikipedia, while the second, somewhat less complicated one is paraphrased from a passage in the book **_**Time Travel in Einstein's Universe**_**, by J. Richard Gott.**


	20. XX

Para-Noir

XX

Morgan, JJ and I are standing outside the present residence of Hans Berkstein. It took her and Garcia almost three days to track down leads, throw away red herrings, and narrow it down to this building. This one building in this dark city could be the path to our salvation.

Of course, there's the possibility that we can't be saved. That this darkness is our penance. What that penance is for, I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. We're just taking the darkness in stride, trying to find a way out. We don't know why it's there. Why we're here. I wonder if we'll find out before the end.

'Don't say _anything_,' JJ instructs us. 'It's bad enough that you had to come at all, but start talking and he'll assume that you're government spies. Hey,' she adds, at the look on my face. 'I never said he was sane. I mean, he's a genius, but he's definitely not all there.'

We go up to the third floor. His is the room at the very end of the hallway. JJ knocks once.

'Who is it?' The voice is low, and I get the feeling that he's trying to disguise it.

'You know me as _the Scepter_,' she says cryptically. She shrugs at my raised eyebrows. 'It's a codename.'

I hear a series of clicks; the door has a multitude of locks and deadbolts. I assume that we've passed the test. The door swings open, and there's a large gun pointed at our faces. It looks complex, an electric juxtaposition to the uniform gunmetal grey that seems to be so popular these days. The man holding the gun is short, with wild salt and pepper curls. His eyes hide behind oversized glasses. If there were an image definitive of a mad scientist, this would be close to it.

'Who are they?' He swings the gun around, so that it's only inches from my nose. I don't flinch.

'They're friends.'

His eyes return to JJ, scanning her face. 'You've been marked.' He sees the small scar at the hairline. He returns to me. 'So have you.' And then he turns to Morgan, sniffing, for some strange reason. 'You're clean. I should kill you all right here.'

This isn't exactly going as planned.

'All I want to know is if you've found a way to escape the city,' she says calmly. She knows how to resolve disputes like this. She isn't a communications coordinator for nothing.

'That's all _they_ want to know as well,' he hisses. We all know who _they_ are. The Inquisitors. Those nightmares that seem to haunt our lives. The very darkness we're trying to escape.

She looks at him with pleading eyes. Grudgingly, he lets us in, but not before telling us that if there's any sign of our betraying him, then all that will be left of us is a pile of ashes. It isn't a comforting thought.

It's a strange room, filled with portable equipment that can be packed up at a moment's notice. Several cats meow as they stalk across tabletops, across mass spectrometers. I don't know what a mass spectrometer has to do with alternate dimensions, but apparently it's useful for something.

'So,' JJ spoke with an urgency that was only slightly perceptible. She didn't want to rush the man that could turn us to dust. 'Have you found a way out?'

He snorts. 'Of course I have.'

***

He has a way out, a plan of escape, but not the resources to implement it. He has equipment, but no personnel. He can't very well go barging into one of the most secure buildings in the city brandishing his microscope.

And of course, the plan does involve infiltrating the most secure building in the city. The house of the government that oppresses us. I wonder if they know what secrets they're hiding.

He tells us, 'You can get me in, and I'll get you home. Wherever home is.'

So we help him pack up his equipment, his things. He keeps the gun trained on us at all times; I know that he'll never completely trust us. Why that means we are reduced to being his packhorses, I'll never know.

***

Reid has that look on his face. That giddy, eager look that means he knows something we don't, and he's damn well going to share it. Emily's sitting with him. They've been going over the limited historical records available.

'The continents never drifted apart,' he tells us. 'This city is an ecumenopolis.' I had already assumed that much. Morgan, though, has a quizzical look on his face.

'City that spans the entire world,' Emily explains.

'Like Coruscant,' adds Reid. Emily smiles, but I don't think anyone else knows what he is talking about.

'Assuming that astronomy follows the same basic principles, I'd say we're at thirty-eight degrees, fifty-three minutes, forty-two point four seconds north, seventy-seven degrees, two minutes, twelve seconds west.' He speaks as though we are all intimately familiar with geographical co-ordinates.

'D.C,' he says. 'We've moved universes, but we're essentially in the same place.'

I wonder if knowing that fact will make anything easier.

**A/N: Well I'm one chapter and about 1000 words from going over my record for longest stand-alone CM fic. That's of course, looking at Angels Fall First as 3 separate fics as opposed to one long one. After that, it's another 10,000 before I overtake my longest fic. Which you should all read. I'm not sure if I'll make it that far, but we'll see. And all this from something that started as a side project.**


	21. XXI

Para-Noir

XXI

'Okay,' says Penelope. 'Little known fact – the building we're trying to get into is also used as a prison for dangerous criminals. We're not talking petty theft here; we're talking the big guns.' She's smiling as she says it – I wonder how she thinks this could be good news in any shape or form.

'Oh, come on, guys,' she says. 'I didn't think it would take you this long to get.' She pauses, as if for effect, and then tells us. 'We bring in a prisoner.' Her eyes are shining.

'Not everything works the way Star Wars does.' Reid is skeptical. 'A real system would have checks and balances. They wouldn't just bring in anyone they thought was a prisoner.'

'And that.' Her voice is triumphant. 'That is why it's a good thing we have two wanted felons amongst us already.' I look at Garcia, waiting for her to tell us. She doesn't have to. The guilty looks on Emily and Derek's faces are enough to tell us all we need to know.

'Wait, wait,' Rossi interjects. 'You're both wanted by the human government _and _the Inquisitors? What'd you do? Kill ten thousand puppies?'

'I blame labeling theory.' Emily speaks directly to me.

'No comment.' Derek's words too, are aimed in my direction.

Both have steely eyed looks; they're committed to taking this as far as they need to, no matter the risks to their own person. I don't know if _I'm _willing to risk their persons.

'You're _definitely_ okay with this?' I ask them. They don't even dignify that with a response. Derek continues to stare, while Emily rolls her eyes and gives me a smile.

'Now then,' Garcia is still grinning. I can tell it's an attempt to alleviate the situation. 'Who wants to pretend to be a government official?'

***

Apparently I am the most official looking, for it's me that they put in a suit and tie. Hermes' people are doing the tech work. Some of Derek's crew is joining us under the guise of tactical officers. The rest…

'They're not coming,' Derek announces.

I frown. I had thought that they were committed. 'I…why?'

'We can't get all of them in that building without arousing suspicion. Some volunteered to stay behind – they want to fight this fight long term. This fight…it's so much bigger than any of us. We need to work out why we're here, and what we can do to stop it from happening _ever_ again.'

And I know he's right. We can't destroy this darkness altogether, but the very least we can do is close it off.

***

I put the cuffs on her gently, not wanting to aggravate her still aching shoulder.

'Have you always wanted to cuff me this badly?' she asks. Our lips touch briefly; the kiss is short, but by no means empty.

'I don't know. I guess we'll find out when we get home.' She smiles. It's one of the most beautiful things I've seen in my entire life.

I press my lips atop her head. Her face nestles in the crook between my neck and my shoulder. We stand like that for several minutes. Not moving. Not talking. Our moment of calm before the storm. I'll get her through this alive if it's the last thing I do.

***

The freshly pressed suit and tie seems so comfortable to me. As if anything else I've ever worn is a façade, a disguise. Beside me, Dave wears a similar suit, but he doesn't seem as professional somehow. Reid, JJ and Penelope look almost comical in the garb of tactical officers.

I go through three security barriers, just to get to the front door. Each time I show them the I.D. badge that was run up for me by Hermes. Agent Aaron Strauss. I wonder whose hilarious idea that was.

The prison section of the building is several floors underground. I am given a temporary access card. 'These are very dangerous prisoners,' I tell the door staff. 'The tactical agents will need to accompany me down there.'

'That's fine.' I breathe a sigh of relief. With security this lackluster, I wonder why we didn't try something like this much earlier.

We go down eight floors. I swipe my I.D. card three times. Each time, a small green light flashes.

'Prisoner book in,' I tell the man at the desk. He nods. Taps a few keys into the computer.

'Names?'

'Prentiss, Emily. Morgan, Derek.' He taps a few more keys, and then stops. He presses a red button on the side of his desk. Armed men come from every side. My left arm tenses against my weapon. My right arm grabs at Emily's. I'm not quite sure what's happening.

'What's going on?' I ask, hoping it isn't the kind of question that will reveal me as a fake agent.

He points towards Emily. 'This one's marked for immediate execution. No trial, no waiting period.'

I see several horrified faces at this point. I know that it's time to take action. My left hand unsnaps the holster. I shoot at the desk clerk without even thinking about it. He goes down screaming, a wound to his left shoulder.

'No killing!' I warn them, though I know it's probably wishful thinking. It's sometimes hard to control gunfire in such a sudden battle.

I push Emily to the ground; she isn't much help with her hands cuffed. Beside me, Dave follows suit with Derek. Speeding lead projectiles fly through the air, hitting human and non-human indiscriminately. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Reid take a bullet. Inwardly swearing, I keep fighting.

When the dust settles, we've won. But not without a cost. Two of Derek's crew dead, and Reid has a bullet in his right thigh. It missed the femoral artery, a fact for which I am grateful.

Garcia, who had stood aside, cowering, for most of the battle, examines the open files on the desk clerk's computer. This is where her expertise lies. Beside her, the clerk moans in pain.

As she reads the file, her mouth opens slightly in horror. She has a look of betrayal on her face as she turns to Emily. In turn, Emily has her own expression – shame. 'I did what I had to do,' she said quietly.

I step over casualties – I can't quite bear to think of them as bodies, as people I might have killed. I see the expression on Emily's face turn to pain as she realizes that there's nothing she can do to stop me from reading that file.

My heart rips in two.

Emily Prentiss is a former government assassin.

And suddenly, I am alone in the darkness once more.

**A/N: Because, seriously, what would this be without some character conflict as well? We're on the home stretch now, and this is officially my CM story (sequels not withstanding). OR ARE WE?  
**


	22. XXII

Para-Noir

XXII

What do I feel? Anger? Betrayal? Sadness? A mixture of the above, really. It's not about the specific act of betrayal, but the betrayal of trust. The fact that she could trust me enough to tell me about this.

'Hotch.' She's still sitting awkwardly at the spot where I pushed her to the ground. Her cuffed hands fidget slightly in front of her. She's staring down, afraid to look into my eyes. 'Please say something.'

I open my mouth. But then, I realize I have no words for this. I'm too shocked to berate her, too angry to forgive her. All I can do is ask, 'Why?'

'I did what I had to do,' she repeats. And we both know that isn't good enough. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I've pulled her to her feet. I've pinned her against the wall. My hand is holding her throat. 'WHY?!' I'm yelling. There's both fear and pain in her eyes now. I wonder if it's because she is afraid that I'm going to kill her, or because she knows that she has hurt me.

I'm pulled back by Dave and JJ. In the background, I can hear a tactically clad Hans Berkstein laughing. He finds the situation inexplicably hilarious.

Emily slides slowly back to the ground, aware of all eyes on her. She's shaking heavily, and tries to put a hand to her throat, but the cuffs stop her. Dave lets go of me, and kneels down beside her. He gently unlocks the cuffs. She isn't going to run from us. She might have nodded her thanks, but it's hard to tell; she's still quivering.

'We need to get out of here,' Derek informs us. He has been released of his own shackles. He and Dave help Emily up. After several seconds more of shaking, she finally gets the courage to look into my eyes.

'I woke up here,' she tells me. I furrow my brow, unsure of what she means. The anger still has not left me, and I know she senses that.

'One moment,' she continues. 'I was with Reid. We were looking for you. You'd all disappeared, and we had no fucking idea where you were. Then…something happened. I woke up in a cell, here. No idea how I got there. They spent four months torturing me; brainwashing me into doing their bidding. I could barely remember anything about my past; I was just this…blank shell. All I knew was those six names.'

We all knew this government was corrupt. It seemed almost _a priori_. For five years I had thought that the Inquisitors were simply another branch of this corruption. That we were only fighting – or in my case, avoiding – one enemy.

'There's a lot of hate between Inquisitors and the government,' she tells us. She's gripping tightly to Derek's arm, trying not to fall. I feel the slightest pangs of guilt at seeing the bruises that are slowly appearing on her neck. 'The Inquisitors think that the government knows what's going on and the government doesn't even know if they know what's going on. So they seek out government agents and other people that might have the slightest inkling of a clue. The irony of it was, Inquisitorial torture broke through the brainwashing. I had the vaguest idea of who I really was. But then, the government doesn't really like it when there's a rogue agent running around.' Her voice is strained, and I know that I am wholly responsible for that. If Dave and JJ hadn't pulled me back, I know I probably would have killed her right there.

I understand why she was forced to do what she did. That is, of course, if she's telling the truth; I don't know if I can trust her to do that anymore. She's looking at me expectantly. Waiting for an apology? I don't know.

'We should get moving,' is all I say.

***

Penelope manages to hack into the building's operational control from the desk clerk's computer.

'Check for abnormally high power usage,' Berkstein directs her. 'They'll be studying the portal.' This is the first time that he has mentioned a portal. I suppose he was wary of our allegiances.

'They can't just _use _the portal?' asks Dave. Berkstein shrugs. In his lilted voice, he replies;

'It's like a wormhole. Enter it the wrong way, and you'll be ripped to shreds.'

'They can't figure out the right way?'

He shrugs. 'Government employees. All idiots.' I feel like I should be insulted, but right now, it doesn't matter.

Penelope's fingers fly across the keyboard. 'Fourteenth through sixteenth floor is using a whole lot of power. It might be R&D.' She taps a few keys again. 'Got it. Fourteen through sixteen is R&D. The portal is on the sixteenth floor.'

'We don't have access to sixteen.' I frown. I wonder how exactly we can get into R&D.

'Never fear.' She relieves me of my keycard. 'You can do anything with a computer these days.' It takes a few moments for her to work out the system, and a few more moments to change the parameters of the keycard.

'We're good to go.' She hands the keycard back to me. 'I may need to turn off the security alarms that went off the moment we started shooting. We'll call it a prison riot.'

I nod. I don't tell her to hurry; she knows me well enough to know to hurry, and I know her well enough to know that.

When we are ready to go, I take the lead, not wanting to be with Emily right at this second. We both need the time to cool down. She's still leaning on Derek as she walks. Reid compensates for his own injury by slowing down Dave.

By a lucky break – and, I suspect, some of Penelope's computer magic – we get to the sixteenth floor without any drama.

I am momentarily speechless. Throngs of men and women in white coats stand around what can only be described as a colossal ball of blue light. It's almost beautiful in its complexity. Purple streaks flicker, and occasionally, there is a zapping sound. So engrossed in their study of this beast, the scientists do not even see us coming up behind them.

'Nobody move.' I feel like a bank robber, or at the very least, a villain in a B-movie. They see me standing there, my weapon trained on them. They step back. They aren't soldiers. Their life isn't worth this.

I wave Berkstein towards the control panel. 'You know what settings are needed?' I ask.

'Mr. Hotchner,' he says with some annoyance. 'I have an IQ of 209. I know what I am doing.' He flips a few switches, turns a few dials. We all look on with trepidation.

Confident in his own abilities, Berkstein is the first to step through the portal. Reid and Dave follow, then Derek's crew. JJ and Penelope look at each other with hesitation. 'It's either this, or stay here for the rest of our lives,' says JJ eventually. They make their own way through.

Emily gives me a backwards glance as she and Derek walk forward. She is walking under her own steam now, but Derek keeps his hand nearby, just in case.

Finally, it is just me, and a plethora of terrified scientists, some of whom appear to be regaining their confidence. I take a deep breath. I look around me. I look through the windows at the city that has housed me for five years, at the city that has kept me shrouded. I think of how I have changed, how I have grown. I think of Reid and Dave, of Penelope and JJ, of Derek. I think of Emily.

I know I will forgive her, within time. How long that might be, I'm not sure. I know her intentions were not malicious, and I know that I can make this work.

With that final thought, I step forward into the portal.

Into darkness.

**A/N: Okay, this is **_**definitely**_** not finished yet. I still have at least one more chapter, which contains a **_**very **_**important plot point. But I guess, if you want a happy ending, you should stop here. That's all I'll say.**


	23. XXIII

Para-Noir

XXIII

A swirl of color surrounds me. Stepping through this portal is like nothing else I've experienced. I have been detached from the corporeal plane of existence. I feel the very core of my being hurtling towards an unknowable end. Is this death? Is this the darkness – the true darkness – that has been waiting to meet me? Is this the end of it all?

No, a tiny voice tells me. This party's just getting started.

My exit is rather ungainly. I trip forward, rolling twice before I manage to bring myself to a stop. Breathing heavily, I sat up, examining my surroundings. If I had expected to see a familiar place in my own world – my office, perhaps – I was sorely disappointed. By this point, though, I've come to expect the disappointments.

Instead, I see something that is truly breathtaking. We're standing on a strange, rocky surface. I see reddish brown dust staining my pant legs. I look up, and I am met with an unending field of shining stars. Galaxies spiral in masses of color; nebulae gracefully drift in an eternal attempt to form planets. If there was ever an image that was representative of oblivion, of creation, then this is it.

Around me, the others stare with an unbridled awe. They are just as surprised to be here as I am. Of course, the only person who doesn't look surprised is Hans Berkstein.

'Did you know this would happen?' I ask. I am trying to be angry, but at the same time I feel almost grateful that I have had this experience.

'It's not over yet,' he tells me.

'Where are we?' Reid asks. He manages to hobble to his feet with Dave's help. He cannot keep the pain from his voice – I know that if he is to survive, then we must return home immediately. The question, of course, is _how_?

'You are in the space between universes.' A voice says. It is not the voice of Hans Berkstein. It is a much deeper, much more godlike voice. I turn, startled, but I see no-one.

'Who are you?' I call out. I'm still turning, still trying to find the source of this voice. He seems to fade into view before me. He's not particularly extraordinary, at least, not in comparison to the world around us. He is the Ted Bundy of divine beings.

'Me?' He laughs, and it's an average laugh. 'I'm just this lonely guy. It's nice to have some company around here.'

'"The space between universes,"' Reid quotes. 'Is that…it links the multiverse? You can jump from one universe to the next, but you have to stop here first. It's a layover.' He grasps the situation rather quickly, even with his rapidly increasing blood loss.

'Precisely,' the man grins, and it's an average grin. 'Normally, it isn't this…_picturesque_, but I fear that its normal appearance may have startled you. The human mind cannot cope with oblivion.'

'Then you aren't human?' It seems an obvious conclusion, but then, he laughs again, as if amused by my train of thought.

'Like you, I was pulled from my own universe. I was ripped out of the timeline, and brought here, to this forsaken place. Taught to master the threads of reality.'

It dawns on me. 'You. You stole our lives from us. Abandoned us in the city.' I'm not altogether sure if I'm angry or thankful. I don't like my life being tampered with, but then, if I had never gone to the city, then…

Derek looks as though he wants to tackle the man, but he is paralyzed by some mysterious force. He settles on saying, 'You son of a bitch.' His fists clench around Emily's arm. She pulls away, not wanting to interfere with his discharge of anger.

'Why?' It seems so simple a question. Why are we here? Why did you bring us here? Is it sadism, psychopathy, a broken home? Here we are, profiling this master of the multiverse.

He shrugs, as if the answer is unknown to him too. 'Why does anything ever happen?' It's all he is going to say on the matter.

'Can you send us home?' I ask, dreading the answer.

'Yes,' he says, and we all seem to breathe a sigh of relief. But then, I realize, he hasn't finished. 'But it will require a sacrifice.' I feel the outrage now.

'You took us from our homes, brought us to a god-forsaken city, and now you want a _sacrifice_?' The idea seems ludicrous; as though we haven't given up enough already.

'It's the way the world works. One of you must remain behind.' I see the look on Hans Berkstein's face. The look that tells me that he knew of this tradeoff. I think, perhaps, he has tried this before. He brought us here simply to throw us to the wolves.

There is silence among us. I see Emily start to open her mouth; I anticipated this. The way she quit the BAU rather than betray us, the way she revealed herself as the FBI agent in Cyrus's compound rather than see Reid hurt. The way she would throw away anything just to see us through. I anticipated this, and I prepared for it.

'I'll stay,' I say. I see the look of horror in their eyes. I see the look of pain in Emily's eyes. I give her my own look in reply. How many emotions can I convey in that one look? I was aiming for forgiveness, for apology, for loss, and for above all, love. I feel the ground start to slip away beneath me. This rocky surface quickly becoming air.

'NO!' She's already running. I don't think I've ever seen anyone move that fast. She grabs at my arm before I plunge. We're at the edge of a precipice. Inch by inch, I'm falling backwards into the darkness. She's gripping my arm for all she's worth. I can see the pain in her eyes, both physical and emotional.

'Let go,' I tell her, but there are tears in my eyes as I say it. I may be sacrificing myself to save her life, but I don't know if I can save her heart.

'I'm never letting go,' she tells me. But her words belie her; I slip another inch, and she slips with me. She makes a frustrated sound, and tries to pull us back up again. Behind her, Derek is trying to figure out the best way to help without sending us both plummeting into nothingness.

'Let go,' I repeat. 'It's the only way he'll ever let you return home.'

'I can't,' she says. The dark, dripping pools mirror mine. 'I don't want to lose you. I love you, Aaron.' I almost smile. I don't remember her ever calling me Aaron, in the city, or otherwise.

I can't bring myself to say the words. _I love you too._ Instead I say the very thing I don't want to say.

'I'm sorry.' I wait until I'm sure that Derek's holding her. Until I know that she isn't going anywhere. Then I pull at her injured arm, making her recoil, making her let go.

I can see her disbelieving face as I fall backwards.

Into the darkness once more.

THE END.

**Yes, actually, I am deadly serious. This is the end of Para-Noir. I cannot write a happy ending to save my life. The plotline itself will continue however, first in an interlude piece, then in Return to Darkness, which will detail Emily fucking people up just to get Hotch back.**

**For those interested, here's a list of the influences that were paramount in the creation of this fic:**

**Dark City  
The Matrix  
Fallen Angel  
Sin City (The concept mainly; I haven't seen the movie, nor read the graphic novels, but I am familiar with some of Frank Miller's work)  
Batman  
There are probably more that I've forgotten but as I've forgotten them, I can't really list them.**

**Thanks to my avid readers, particularly Arcadya who made a point to review every single chapter (except chapter 18). Thanks to everyone who favorited the piece, or who were on edge enough to be alerted every time I posted a chapter. Tell me what you thought, and don't be afraid to give constructive criticism; criticism helps me know where I'm fucking things up. If you can't think of anything to crit, just review to let me know you were reading. Every thought counts.  
**

**Until I get a chance to write and post the Interlude, take a look at some of my other fics. You won't regret it, I swear.**

**I hope you'll all forgive my overzealous use of commas.**

**Thank-you, and goodnight.**

**tfm.**


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